Tiramisu
by Stephane Richer
Summary: Lunch was ending, and he still hadn't gotten any. "I want tiramisu," he texted his boyfriend, and then sent another message full of angry emoticons.


Tiramisu

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

It was a cold, rainy day, and Murasakibara Atsushi wanted tiramisu. He saw an ad on the way to school; the person sitting next to him on the train was reading a newspaper and there was an ad for a new café with a picture of a tiramisu. He could almost taste the rum and coffee inside the softened biscuits, the rich mascarpone cheese mixed with eggs and sugar, the cream…so intent was he on dreaming up his dessert that he almost missed his stop. Fortunately for him, a woman getting off the stop before his whipped her handbag into his face and that startled him and made him realize his surroundings. Unfortunately for him, she had gotten off the train before he could get mad at her or even get a good look at her.

Even more unfortunately for him, there were no places near school that sold the delicious treat but his brain refused point-blank to stop thinking about it. During math class, he added ladyfinger cookies in his head and during chemistry he thought about mixing milk and coffee and rum. In English, he wondered what the English word for tiramisu was (did they have another word?) but couldn't find it in his textbook's glossary. He ate cookies and chips and sandwiches and hard candies, but nothing could fill the tiramisu-shaped hole in his stomach.

Lunch was ending, and he still hadn't gotten any. "I want tiramisu," he texted his boyfriend, and then sent another message full of angry emoticons. If anyone could help him find something as utterly random and out-of-the-way as this, it would be Midorima Shintarou. After all, he'd had plenty of experience finding his so-called lucky items.

School ended, and he hadn't received a reply yet. As the day had worn on, Murasakibara's mind had grown more and more intensely focused on tiramisu. As he passed by people in the hallways, their heads seemed to turn into tiramisu. He would have attempted to eat one, too, if Himuro hadn't grabbed him in time and half-dragged him to practice.

Practice itself went horribly. Murasakibara didn't focus or try, although he still did well. But halfway through a drill, he collapsed on the floor mumbling something incoherent. It took another half an hour of Himuro's coaxing to get him up again, and as a result they really didn't get much done. Even Araki-sensei hitting everyone on the head did nothing to prevent them from staring at their possibly insane, possibly sick, starting center.

After practice, though, he looked at his phone and immediately brightened up.

"Ah! Mido-chin!"

Had Araki-sensei been there, she probably would have kicked him into next Tuesday. Luckily for Murasakibara, he was in the locker room. He showered and changed, still with a sort of goofy smile on his face, and practically skipped out of the locker room. Fukui shuddered. Seeing someone that big skip was hardly a beautiful sight.

* * *

When he got on the train, Murasakibara reread the text message, smiling fondly again. "Come to my house. We'll make some." He had no idea Midorima could cook—they'd known one another for years and had been dating for a couple of months already, but this was the type of thing he thought Midorima would have told him already. Then again, he was weird about a lot of things (like those strange rituals he performed and that wonky shot that somehow worked and his obsessive horoscope reading), so maybe cooking was just another thing like that.

Murasakibara was still in a good mood when he arrived at Midorima's house a couple of hours later. It was already evening; perhaps his parents would be home. He rang the doorbell, and Midorima opened the door, still wearing his school uniform, hair pinned back.

"You look cute," Murasakibara said and kissed him squarely on the mouth.

Midorima pulled away after only about a second. "Please don't do that before you're inside the door."

Still the same tightwad as ever. Murasakibara complied, shoving his way past Midorima and slamming the door shut behind him. Then, he grabbed Midorima and shoved him against the door and kissed him again, harder and more urgent. Up until then he hadn't realized how much he'd wanted Midorima as well as Tiramisu. Midorima's taste was addictive and intoxicating, and Murasakibara couldn't tell if he was getting dizzy because he was barely breathing or because Midorima overwhelmed him. It didn't matter. He pulled back sooner than he would have liked and stood there, leaning against one of the walls of the vestibule. Midorima grabbed his hand and marched toward the kitchen, and Murasakibara didn't need to see his face to know he was blushing.

Midorima pulled out a cookbook and showed Murasakibara the ingredients list.

"Where do you keep this stuff?" Murasakibara wondered. "Ah, the milk, cheese, and eggs should be in the fridge."

He got them out and Midorima got out the sugar and cookies. There was a fresh pot of coffee sitting on the stovetop. But where was the rum?

Midorima opened a cabinet above the counter and frowned. "I can't quite see into the back…"

Even Midorima wasn't tall enough to see everything. Murasakibara walked up behind him and tilted his head up. Yes, that was a bottle of rum in there, along with two bottles of vinegar and a jar of peach jam. He reached upwards but couldn't quite get his hand to the back of the cabinet, so he leaned forward, almost resting his head on top of Midorima's. He grabbed the bottle and pulled it out, but didn't move his head. It felt nice, resting on Midorima like this. Not like when he tried doing that to Akashi; he was really too short for it to actually work. Plus, Midorima was warmer and stronger and shoved him away.

"Do you want to make the tiramisu or not?"

Of course he did. They set to work mixing and soaking and spreading and combining the ingredients until finally it was ready. Midorima found some cocoa powder in a drawer and sprinkled it on top.

Murasakibara grabbed a fork eagerly, but Midorima gave him one of those looks. "You do know we have to leave it in the fridge for three hours, right?"

Three hours? What kind of hideous torture was this? "What are we going to do?"

"For three hours? I can think of plenty," Midorima said, covering the pan with plastic wrap. He shoved it in the fridge and then placed a mixing bowl in Murasakibara's hands. "Here. We need to wash the dishes."

Washing dishes had always been Murasakibara's least favorite part of anything to do with food, but it was okay this time because he was with Midorima, who let him eat the rest of the cookies that he hadn't eaten during prep time. They were delicious, though they'd be even more delicious soaked in coffee and rum and covered in rich, creamy cheese. He'd held out for almost a whole day now; what were a few more hours?

A lot. The dishes only took them about five minutes. Murasakibara sighed.

Midorima grabbed his hand, his fingertips already getting pruny from the dishwater. "My parents don't get home until late tonight, and my sister's spending the night at a friend's."

Ah.

Slowly, they walked from the kitchen down the hallway to a door. Midorima's bedroom was ordinary, for the most part. He had a small desk with a computer and some books on top, and a tall dresser with all the drawers neatly closed. On top of shelves sat previous day's lucky items (or at least, that was what Murasakibara assumed they were). There was a circular maroon rug on the floor and matching curtains on the window. But the centerpiece of the room was the king-sized bed that took up an entire wall.

It was still a bit small for both of them to fit on at once, although their proximity to one another mitigated that problem slightly. Their elbows clunked together; their legs bent. Murasakibara draped his body over Midorima's and covered his face in kisses, pausing to bite his jaw. His face was so angular; up close it looked like a 3D model of some sort. Murasakibara's hands couldn't keep still; he wanted to grope every millimeter of Midorima's body all at once, but even his hands could not quite accomplish that task. His fingers clawed at Midorima's tie, almost choking him as he pulled.

Midorima coughed and put his hands up, gently pushing Murasakibara upward. Midorima gently wiggled the knot on his own tie and then undid it, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. He acted similarly on Murasakibara's tie, and began making work of the buttons on his shirt. Nimble fingers plucked and tweaked at his chest, and damn that felt good Murasakibara fell backward and Midorima took complete control, pulling off both of their shirts hurriedly. He then returned to Murasakibara's chest and abs, watching the muscles flutter and touching, massaging, kissing. By this point Murasakibara was grinding against him, panting and moaning his name.

Midorima unzipped Murasakibara's fly and pulled down his underwear, exposing his cock, already hard. Midorima took him in his mouth, began licking and sucking and plunging in and then out, almost taking it all the way out of his mouth before deep-throating. Murasakibara came easily, loudly, screaming his name.

Murasakibara lazily finished Midorima, jerking him off quickly and crudely, not really paying attention. All he wanted to do right now was to sleep with Midorima in his arms. Hm, yes, that would be lovely. He pulled Midorima closer with one arm, then wrapped the other around him, too. He rested his head in the crook of Midorima's shoulder, humming lightly. One hand snaked back up to Midorima's chin. He felt Midorima's face move into a smile at his touch. Now, when Midorima was most vulnerable and had shed his façade, moments like this—they were invaluable.

* * *

They only took a short nap, then woke up to shower and change. Midorima didn't really have too many clothes that fit Murasakibara so he put his uniform pants back on and rooted through Midorima's clothes until he found a shirt that he liked. It was a faded blue one he'd often worn in middle school practice, and he wasn't sure why he'd kept it. It fit awkwardly and was so worn out it was getting holes in the hems. It actually fit Murasakibara without being too tight, but more importantly to him, "It feels like Mido-chin."

He smiled and again wrapped his arm around his boyfriend.

"It's 12:13. The tiramisu should be ready."

They walked out to the kitchen to discover that Midorima's parents had come home at some point during the nap. Their coats were on the coat rack and it smelled like reheated dinner. Murasakibara's stomach growled. He didn't realize how hungry he was.

Midorima took the tiramisu out from the refrigerator. It almost sparkled in the low lamp light, and a delicious scent emanated from it. Midorima grabbed a knife and cut himself a small piece and placed it on a plate. Murasakibara grabbed a fork and started eating straight from the pan.

"That's disgusting, Murasakibara."

He said that then, but (predictably) he ended up stealing some more from the pan, directly from his fork to his mouth. They finished off the delicious dessert in almost no time, and Murasakibara traced a finger through the remaining crumbs.

"I think you've had enough." Didn't rum have a lot of calories? Even for this guy, there had to be a limit.

Murasakibara shoved his fingers into Midorima's mouth. Damned if they didn't taste ridiculously sweet and spicy and delicious. Midorima couldn't help but try to suck them dry.


End file.
